The laws of enforcement have undergone a change in their dynamics, as recently as today, pales in comparison. Some, will also say this is true of fact's, so subjective, fear, or interference of those norms suggest something strange.
This safe-collision comes in the form of common sense most day's, when re-numeration of a fragrant such as the smelling soap of 'clean' remains on your hands after washing. How did those same hands smell or scent reflect your memory before your choice of 'washing'. Such a thing is conducive to our inner-most thoughts, lost in hypocritical breaths, perhaps even forgotten thoughts. How very true that is to say, privilege is not unity to procrastination - which could exclaim that forgotten breath you once never took. Not once.
It was the least terrifying experience one may find, if one might travel on a manual device, where skill meets excellence of intervention on nothing short of a whim, blended, branded even in the course of an assembly line, which manufacturing meets the cost of reward, on the cord of a cause so stringent they forget to breath with you. That same person we have no idea got rid of truth, then injustice forever more.
After reading this, you should feel first free, then liberated to consume every breath you want to, as an intellectual pursuit. Not of reason, but how spelling errors are made, you are that canine instinct, anonymous in forgiving. I would think fabricated guilt of a lie. That clever - clever way I put things in perspective for you.
So, back to common sense, before it became a clever fear of it, because fear always remains clever against the tide of exploitative reasoning, the re-numeration, then smelling soap, that jogging of a circular memory gone blind, even after you experienced the continuity of hand washing cleanliness, the show down between dimwit stared straight at you in the mirror image of yourself.
The showdown came between a driver's edge, the comet, and the apple, a designated drunk.
My choice already has left, made to in fact seek the remedy in solution, probable solutions, that carry me to a predestined fate. So ornate in it's thinking, the splurge, my choices always seem to leave me wanting more. More of a problem to search. (The last step I took in my search.) Says the comet.
No problem (drunk). Says the apple.
The collision was the safest choice they each had to make. It's been the least terrifying experience one could have. It was the privilege in washing hands in smelling soap. . . a re-numeration.
The comet never felt so bright as it did right now, the apple a happy drunk.
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If there is anything I hate more so in life, they are unromantic's, the same one's that judge me for not who I am, but cannot see how dually uninformed they are. It's those alpha-omega types that act as earthly aliens, as if they have a trust fund on your value in life. I say fuck them. (And proud of it.)
I'm just going to say that this was fucking awesome to read.^
Quite the story. . . B-O-O-M.
- Marco
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